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User blog:WayfinderOwl/BTM: Free Wedgie Included 9
Tick, Tock, Tinking Clock “How long has he been shooting hoops?” I heard Trent say. To which Pete replied, “An hour.” Both of them were sat on the bleachers in the gym. My main focus was the ball in my hand, and one of the baskets. To them, this seemed like nothing. To me, it has an aid to make a tough decision. I told myself, if I could make thirty baskets in a row, in two hours, I could make this decision. Every five or six baskets, I missed one. The time for thinking was almost over. Announcements had gone over the intercom every morning since Halloween, from an enraged Miss Danvers, demanding that the monsters who desecrated Dr. Crabblesnitch’s office burn in hell for their crimes. ''All her message did was make us all that more proud that we totally got away with it. “Josh, are you going to get changed or what? We have English in half hour, “ Pete called. “Yeah,” I muttered, surrendering. I threw the ball to the ground, headed down to the changing rooms to get out of my sweaty gym clothes. A whole week since Halloween, and I was still none the wiser as what to do. Derby had made it clear when the deadline was. This morning, when I had gone to my locker to fetch the text book for chemistry, I found a note saying ''Tick, tock. Offer expires at midnight. ''No signature, but I knew it was from Derby. My forehead pressed against the metal door of the small changing room locker, I muttered out loud, “Make a choice.” “Something on your mind, little buddy?” came from the other side of the lockers. I composed myself, walked around. One of the boys from the football team leaned against the sink, pulling his shirt off. By the look of him, he had to be Hispanic. Tall and a bit muscular—just like the rest of the team. He had brown hair styled in a flat top. I think his name is Luis. The only Jock who didn’t bully other kids into doing his homework. “It’s nothing,” I lied. “Sure about that? Seems pretty big to me.” He threw the grey t-shirt into the locker. “Just something with an expiry date.” “And that expiration is rapidly approaching? You know what I do, when I got a big decision to make?” I shook my head. “Start small,” Luis explained. “Something that doesn’t even matter. Like, leaving this changing room for starters. Randomly pick one. Left or right. Either way you’re going to leave the gym. Does it matter which door you use?” Luis’s advice helped. A practice I used all the way to English. I chose right, to meet with Pete and Trent. At the fountain with the Bullhorn statue, I chose right. Entering the school building, the door to the right. In English, I had the choice between two seats; one near the back with no one to sit next to me, or at the front with Pete. For a change, I chose the one at the near the back. Either way I would have a seat to sit on. Mr. Galloway was a man in his early thirties with an unnatural rosy complexion. All he cared about was the booze in his coffee mug, that he passed off as tea. He would have been a good teacher, if not for his tendency to delegate the work load back onto the students. Rather than teach, he encouraged us to work together. For homework, we had to work in pairs writing an essay about what it means to be at Bullworth. Rows one and three had to work with the person on their left. Shit. The person on my left was Gary Smith. The bell rang, releasing us from our afternoon class prison. In the foyer was some purple haired goth girl holding a banner that read ''TEACHER NOT MURDERER, ''screaming about the barbaric usage of animals in biology. Some of the jock boys had joined in on her protest, probably hoping if they helped her she would scream for them, if you catch my meaning. She wore two studded dog collars, that crossed each other. I didn’t know her name, and had never seen her in any of my classes. She looked a year or two older than me. Gary scoffed. “Pathetic protests. Pointless.” “Whatever, Gary. Not everyone feels the same as you.” “Whatever,” said Gary, walking away. “Don’t take all night.” ^^^^ I stood outside Gary’s dorm room, not knowing what to expect. For all I knew, he could sleep in a coffin with chains and meat hooks hanging from the rafters. A storm was already brewing outside. Aside from the roar of heavy rain beating down on the roof, there was the occasional rumble of thunder. Cautiously, I reached out to touch the door. It swung open creaking. “My god,” I said, completely dumbfounded. What I found was worse. No coffins. No chains. Every inch of the wall was covered in paper. Not ordinary wallpaper. Paper taken from sketchpads, legal pads, ordinary ruled notebooks. All of them were the style of drawing I had known him to draw. Scribbles at first glance. All of them showed a boy trapped, within a skull fighting to get out. Or a boy wearing a crown on the top of the clock tower, while a faceless shape was about to push him from it. Scenes spread out among them of the same theme. Some parts of the walls had blueprints of the school. Every millimeter of the school mapped, save for the basement. That was noticeably absent. His bed was scattered with books. Not the normal kind that someone sane would read. All of them were hardback black books, that reminded me of something in my room. Some were open, showing more drawings. Occasionally hurried writing, as if he were desperate to get the word onto the page. How was this kid not in Happy Volts already?! Gary lay on a tacky green couch. He looked at me stood in the frame of the doorway. He hadn’t mentioned our exchange at Halloween or acted on it. That was worse. Waiting. Allowing the suspense to torture me. He stood, crossed the carpetless room, shoved me back out into the corridor. From under the leather wrist strap he always wore, he removed a key and locked the door. “We will write the project in your room,” said Gary. “And miss the chance to work in your lovely welcoming room?” I said, with a small trace of sarcasm. Gary shot me a glare. “So you can brag to all your boyfriends, that you got to spend time in that insane sociopath Gary’s room? I don’t think so.” “No one is calling you insane,” I said. Sociopath maybe. I had heard some of the Nerds use that term. “Oh, shut up. I’m not deaf. I hear things.” Gary stomped down the corridor to my dorm. Russell and the gang were hanging out in the rec room around the card table, playing a blackjack tournament. Wade came to the corridor, looking from Gary to me. “If you need help, just call,” Wade said. “It’s alright, man. Just homework,” I said. “Oh, isn’t that cute,” Gary mocked. “Your boyfriend is worried about you from the big monster. We have time for you to give him a kiss if you want.” I pushed past Gary, and entered my room. Working with him was surprisingly easy. He sat at my desk, writing and ignored me. I lay on my back on my bed, staring at the page. What did being at Bullworth mean to me? What did it mean to me? I mused the thought for nearly half hour. Gary was finished. He dropped the pen down on the mahogany desk with a thud. “Done,” he said, standing up. “Use it. Change it. Burn the damn thing for all I care.” He was almost to the door, when I said, “Wait.” I got up, and dragged the remains of the box from under my desk. All that was left was the notebook. The night before, I had read some of it. After drawings, there was a journal for a month. All the thoughts and dreams were pretty dark. Stuff horror films were made of. I stood, holding the book out. “This is yours, isn’t it?” Gary walked towards me, and snatched the book out of my hand. He opened the cover to the first page. His gaze drank in the first drawing. “Where did you get that?” “I found it.” “You’re pretty good a finding stuff,” Gary quipped, sarcastically. He walked out of the room with his book returned to him. The door shut behind him. “Oh, don’t thank me,” I said, under my breath. I picked up his essay, and begun reading. ---- '''TO BE AT BULLWORTH.' '' by Gary Smith. '' To be at Bullworth, a term that takes many meanings. To be here is to feel pain. Without the pain, you cannot thrive. Failure to thrive is failure to make your way into the world. Given the choice between the toughest school in the country and the real world, I would choose here. At least here you can make many choices and mistakes. The mistakes help us become stronger. Each day seems the same as the last. People come and go, but they are truly no different from the students of the past. They kid themselves the rut they are in is where they want to be. The lie is better than the truth. Truth leaves you open to change. Change means you might just find yourself. The fear of not having something to complain about creates the pain. To survive at Bullworth is fighting for what you want, and bask in the glory while you have it. I would rather fight, and lose it all, than not try. Life is pain. Bullworth is our life now. ---- My hand slumped. The paper landed on my lap. Gary was right. If I wanted to find myself, I had to embrace the change. I set Gary’s essay down on the desk. Opened the top draw with all the money in the cashbox. This money wasn’t just mine. I unlocked it with my key. Ten grand more or less. I counted the notes, removing only a thousand. Hid the money I took in my wardrobe. Locked the cashbox once more. Fetched the pad of paper from my bed, and scribbled a quick note for Pete; Pete, I made a choice. Josh. Looked down at my shirt—white, as was my Bullies uniform. I slipped the shirt off, putting it on a hanger. I didn’t need it anymore. At the end of the rail was the red shirt from my first day. Seemed fitting that I should wear it. I slipped the note to Pete under his dorm door. He would get it. Holding the cashbox tightly, I walked into the rec room. “Russell,” I said. Russell raised his head, to look at me. “Josh have something to say?” I nodded. I held out the cashbox and the key to the motel room he had given me. “This is yours. There is nine grand in there. I hope you don’t mind that I took some to keep me going for the rest of the year.” “You’re leaving us, aren’t you?” asked Trent. “I have to,” I said. “I’m grateful for all you have done for me—all of you. You will always be my friends. This life isn’t for me, and I have to take this chance to find myself while I have it.” Russell took the cashbox in his big hand. “Russell understands.” With the other hand, he patted me on the back. “Have good life, Josh.” I smiled, and ran out of the dorms into the rain. ^^^^ Harrington House was quiet. The door was unlocked. I stepped out of the rain onto the thick carpet of the foyer, looking not unlike a half drowned rat. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get here, I would have brought a coat or an umbrella. The doors to the drawing room were open. Derby sat on a couch, wearing a smoking jacket. In his hand poised like a claw was a ball like wine glass, with ice at the bottom like rocks, with a brown liquid that had to be beam cola. Pinky sat beside him thumbing through an Aquaberry catalogue. The rest of the preps were stood in a line behind the couch, staring at me. The antique clock on the wall chimed quarter to twelve. Fifteen minutes until the offer disappeared forever. “You like to cut it fine,” Derby observed. With his free hand, he beckoned for me to join them in the drawing room. I walked into the exquisitely designed drawing room. From the carpet to the walls was a deep royal blue color. “What if a kid didn’t want to be his parent’s meal ticket his whole life, what would he have to do?” I came to a stop three feet from the couch. The other preps looked to me as if I were insane. Derby’s lips curved into a smile. “You have already done it, Josh.” So closed another chapter in my life; the one where my parents had hold of me. As a new enemy once said; I would rather fight, and lose it all, than not try. Category:Blog posts Category:WayfinderOwl's Fanfiction